


Hopelessly In Love

by RosebudVampire



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Canon Divergence, Fiona too, I really don't know what to do with Simon's wings and tail, M/M, Penny is just mentioned, Pre-Book 2: Wayward Son, Slight Misunderstanding, baz panics in gay, chapter 61 does not happen exactly like in the book, probably slightly off character, simon snow is a bisexual disaster
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2021-01-30 22:53:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21436027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosebudVampire/pseuds/RosebudVampire
Summary: A little over a year has passed since it all started. Since the friendship started, and Baz is happy to at least have that. It is more than what they had before. It is more than what he thought he would ever get.But maybe he thought wrong.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 4
Kudos: 77





	Hopelessly In Love

_Simon shakes his head, and he’s saying something, and Baz thinks he might kiss him._

_Because he’s never kissed anyone before. (He was afraid he might bite.) And Baz’s never wanted to kiss anyone but Simon. (He won’t bite. He won’t hurt him.)_

_ Baz just wants to kiss him, then go. _

_“Simon…,” he says. _

_And then Simon _hugs_ Baz._

***

Baz wakes up with the feeling of the flames on his skin, as if he still were surrounded by both the smoky smell of the burning trees and Simon Snow’s own. And he can feel Snow’s arms around his neck, trying to keep him grounded. To keep him _alive. _He managed to do it, that night. And all the other ones too, although in those cases Simon didn’t know he was the reason Baz didn’t (nor tried to) set himself on fire.

With his eyes still closed, Baz stretches a little bit and, right next to him, he hears someone grunting, then he feels that same person move, ending up with their left arm flung around Baz’s stomach. He freezes, not daring to look down. Not daring to imagine whom it could be, because if he did, he wouldn’t like the answer (or he would, more than he should). So he just lies there, completely awake now, eyes staring at the ceiling he’d looked at a million times since he moved in with his aunt Fiona, as if searching for something new in the light blue surface. As if searching for answers as to why Simon Snow is sleeping on his bed, arm embracing Baz, breathing through his mouth, most probably drooling over the pillow. As much as Baz didn’t want it to be Snow, he would never not recognize that smell. Even without all that magic coursing through him, Snow still managed to smell like he was burning, but he also had traces of leather now (due to the wings and the tail, no doubt).

After a minute or so, the thought that he was sharing a bed with the boy he has been in love with for so many years finally registers inside of Baz’s mind. And that’s when his mind starts to work on what had happened the previous night.

He remembers opening the door to his flat late into the night, and finding Snow there, beer cans at hand, a smile on his face, no wings in sight.

‘Its’s your birthday,’ he had said when Baz asked him what he was doing there, ‘and I know Fiona is out of town, so I thought that you shouldn’t spend the night alone.’

He had smiled that way that Baz loves, and then he was inside, coat left aside, tail untucked, curls a mess. He said something about Penelope having to work on some project and something about the American, but Baz can’t remember it at the moment, because the next thing he remembers clearly is him and Snow, talking for hours, sharing alcohol and watching some old movie they found on the telly. Hours spent just them alone, with periods of silence, bad jokes and awkward laughs. Then he remembers when Simon’s wings decided to spring out, how it scared the shit out of him, and Snow laughing his ass off because of the face Baz had apparently made, and after that how they looked at each other for a moment, caught in the comfortable feeling, and how Baz had reached for Simon’s hand without realising. And Simon taking his hand and not letting go while they both sat in silence, eyes trained on the movie they weren’t really paying attention to. After some time, Snow had fallen asleep in an awkward position, and Baz didn’t want him to sleep on the couch, but they didn’t have a spare room and Fiona would, somehow, know if Baz allowed Snow to sleep on her bed. So he took Simon to his, with effort because a tipsy Snow was not a light Snow, but Baz was a vampire, so the worst of it wasn’t the weight, but the way Snow stumbled with his own feet at every step. When they finally got to Baz’s room, he eased Snow on his bed with as much carefulness as he mustered, then he took the bronze haired boy’s shoes off and tried to get him under the covers, but, even asleep, Snow was adamant to keep the sheets out of his way, so Baz decided to just let him be, after all he still run hot most of the time. When he turned around to go back to the couch, he felt Simon’s hand on his arm, grabbing his shirt quite strongly for someone who looked like he was passed out.

‘Stay,’ Baz heard him mumble, so soft that if it weren’t for his vampire senses he doubted he would have heard.

‘There is no space for both of us’ he had replied, but then Snow tugged at his arm and, Crowley, Baz was weak, so he let himself be tugged and ended up crawling onto bed with Snow, whom after making sure that Baz was not going anywhere, snuggled next to him and placed a kiss on the black haired man’s cheek.

‘Good night, Baz,’ he said, and after just a moment Baz heard his light snores.

‘Good night, Simon,’ he had said, and then proceeded to fall asleep himself.

The thought of all that makes Baz blush furiously, and he is mad at himself for feeding so well as a gift for himself the previous night, because he feels the heat on his cheeks. If Fiona saw him she would never let him live through it.

He feels Snow move slightly again and a new question appears in his head. _What am I going to do?_ A part of himself tells him to keep going as if nothing had happened, after all, he doubts Snow will remember anything, he was quite tipsy at the moment and he had been basically asleep when Baz went all soft on him But a different part of himself wants to tell him. To let Simon know that he has been in love with him since they were in fifth year, how he is such an important person in his life. How he had dreamt about waking up just like this, with Simon next to him, so many times that he had lost count years ago. How he had thought that he was going to die by Simon’s hands, but instead Simon had ended up saving him.

But he couldn’t just blurt it all out. What if he had read it all wrong the previous night? What if Snow had just been drunk, and didn’t mean any of the gestures he had made? Baz wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he confessed and Simon didn’t reciprocate. He would die (or at least feel like shit for the rest of his probably immortal life).

The movement of Snow’s wings (tucked, like a little bird’s, the way it made them hurt in the morning when he finally stretches them) catches his attention and he is back to the real world, the one in which he still has to see how Simon will react, the one in which they will have to wake up, in each other’s arms, and talk about what had happened the night before. In which they would have to have breakfast in… Breakfast. Snow is going to be famished when he wakes up, Baz knows that. He has slept over at the flat he shared with Bunce to know it (he always slept on the couch, always woke up uncomfortable). The first thing in the morning Snow would do every time there was no breakfast was to walk to the fridge and eat butter. Nothing but butter. Baz always felt disgusted. And in love. More the latter.

Should he try to go make breakfast? Probably not, Snow is a light sleeper. It was a miracle Baz had woken up before him, but it probably had to do with the amount of alcohol Simon had ingested the previous night. But it must be his lucky day, because Simon moves again and, this time, he lets go of Baz, so he is free to get out of the bed and walk to the kitchen.

Baz hears Snow get up around half an hour after he started making breakfast, so Baz is not surprised when he feels Snow behind him, looking over his shoulder at the butter Baz has taken out of the fridge.

‘It smells delicious,’ Snow says, and Baz just nods. He doesn’t trust himself to speak. He is afraid he will just blurt out all the words inside his head. All the doubts. All the feelings.

They set the table in silence, a slightly awkward one, or at least Baz feels like that. Maybe it’s his imagination. Maybe Simon does not feel it. He doesn’t seem to feel awkward at all.

When they start eating, it seems like Simon has enough of the silence.

‘So…’ he says, tentatively. ‘Did you enjoy last night?’ Again, Baz just nods, and a crease appears on Simon’s forehead. ‘Did you poison your tongue with your fangs or something? Stop being an arse and talk to me.’

Baz looks at him for a moment, before swallowing the bite of sour cherry scone (he actually bought them specially for Simon, but he indulges on one once in a while), and raises an eyebrow.

‘Don’t look at me like that, Baz. I know there is something bothering you. I can almost see your brain working. And I know it has something to do with me.’

‘What I’m thinking about is none of your business, Snow.’

‘It is my business if you are not talking to me because of it! And don’t call me Snow. You called me Simon before.’

Baz almost spits his tea. ‘I did not.’

‘Oh, you so did.’

‘I don’t recall.’ Baz is trying to act cool, but he is not really succeeding. He can feel his cheeks get hot, and his palms start to sweat. He remembers. He fucking remembers.

Simon gets up and plants his hand on top of the table, making everything rattle. Baz almost has a panic attack when he sees his aunt’s favourite mug about to fall to the floor. (He would never allow Snow back close to his aunt’s china). Now Snow is looking right at his eyes, his face barely a foot away. Baz’s super senses catch up on the smoky smell, and he feels like he is back at Watford, and Snow is about to go off. But now he can’t, so he is going to let go of his anger on some other way. Maybe kissing Baz. Most probably by punching Baz.

‘You wished me goodnight and called me Simon when we were curled up on your bed, after we held hands for so long that my hand ended up feeling so damn cold once you let go, that the only thing I wanted to do was to hold it back.’ Baz’s eyes go wide, he never thought he would hear Simon bloody Snow saying that he wanted to hold hands with him. ‘And then you took me to your bed, and slept with me through the hole night, Baz. And I would kill to do it again, and finally find you lying next to me for once. So don’t act like it is none of my business, because it bloody well is.’

Snow is red, but Baz is not sure if it is embarrassment or because he just said all that in one breath. And all he can do is stare at those blue eyes, full of emotions, rage and exasperation mixed with something else that he cannot really understand. Something he hadn’t seen in Snow ever before.

They just stare at each other, until Baz can feel his eyes go dry and Simon’s own start to get watery.

‘Say something.’ Snow says.

And suddenly something that Simon said registers in Baz’s brain.

‘You would kill to sleep with me again?’ Baz can feel the tone of surprise on his voice.

Simon sighs and sits down. ‘Yes, Baz. I would fight the Humdrum again if that was what I had to do to finally wake up with you in my arms.’

They sit in silence once again. Baz really wants to say something; he just doesn’t know what. He wants to move, hold Simon’s hand and kiss him, but he can’t seem to move. All he can manage is to open his mouth and let a choked sound out of his throat. His tongue doesn’t want to work, his brain and his mouth seem to have disconnected.

After a minute or so of silence, Snow gets up with a sad expression on his face and turns away.

‘I guess that was the alcohol acting and talking last night.’ He goes out of the kitchen, his tea and half a cherry scone left behind on top of the table, and Baz hears him fumbling to put on his shoes. ‘I’m sorry for bothering you, Baz. Just… Just forget I said anything,’

Snow grabs his coat and mumbles something that sounds like a complain about his wings being cramped and how he would have to hide them until he got home, when Baz finally reacts and gets up from his chair. In a split second, he is behind Snow, with a hand on the door to stop Simon from opening it, and the other holding Simon’s coat. Now that he is there, Baz doesn’t know what to do again. Should he wait for Simon to do something? Should he kiss him? Tell him everything his heart is dying to spill? Baz’s mind is a tornado of ideas, and none of them seem good enough to complete. He is at a total loss of words and actions.

But Simon isn’t.

As soon as Baz starts to open his mouth, and before he can let out the choked sound he is sure he was about to spill, Simon frees himself from Baz’s grip and turns around. He looks Baz in the eye for a moment. Blue meeting grey. Hope meeting hesitation.

Baz wants to kiss him. He is sure he won’t bite him. Baz is going to kiss him.

And then Simon kisses Baz.

**Author's Note:**

> So, um, this is my first ever Snowbaz fic (one-shot?), and also the first one I post on AO3, so... I hope you liked it?  
Also, sorry if there are any mistakes or if they seem out of character and not British enough, English is not my first language, and I'm not really familiar with British English so, yeah. Please forgive my latina ass.  
The fic was inspired by 'Truly, madly, deeply', by One Direction.  
Hope you enjoyed it!


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